


love don't die

by stilessexual



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/stilessexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, there is no happy ending. </p><p>Sometimes, true love doesn’t prevail and the good guy dies. Sometimes, the bad guy wins. Sometimes, our hearts break and we lose our breaths in the worst possible way. </p><p>This isn’t one of those times. </p><p>This is the story of two people whose very existence together shifted time and space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love don't die

**Author's Note:**

> title's from the fray's very cool song, love don't die. 
> 
> !! :)

Boyd didn’t die.

By the grace of God himself and Lydia Martin, Vernon Boyd did not die.

“ _No_.”

“Lydia?” Stiles cautiously took stepped away from a numb Derek and inched towards her. “Lydia, you okay?”

“Am I okay? Are you out of your mind?” she turned to Stiles with crazed eyes. “You’re telling me that Boyd –he survived the bite, getting kidnapped by the Argents, and then by the Alpha pack only to die like _this_? Absolutely not. _I_ won’t let it happen.”

There was power in words, in how they shaped a person’s destiny, and in how they were wielded. Stiles hurt somewhere deep in the hollow between his lungs. The sound of Cora’s sobs bouncing across the loft didn’t do much to help ease the unreality of it all. Yet, Lydia’s distraught words were a tether and a balm and somehow an impossible ray of hope.

“Lydia—

“Shut up,” She snapped and closed her eyes tightly. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. Do not dare.”

Lydia Martin was planning. Stiles could see it in the murmured words under her breath. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. He could see the plan after plan that she drew out in the slight movements of her fingers over imaginary equations.

He suddenly wondered how much of her scared little girl act was just that, an act.

“What do you need?”

She peeled her grave-yard eyes open and took a deep breath.

“You.” She whispered. “I need you. I need you to trust me.”

Stiles’ gaze cut a cross to Boyd’s prone form and quickly back to her.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat roughly and wiped his sweaty hands across his jeans. “Of course. Whatever I can do, it’s yours.”

She nodded with a clenched jaw and pushed past towards him towards Derek.

“Derek,” she hissed at the near comatose Alpha. “Derek, snap out of it and look at me.”

He blinked up at her, the way a blind would at the sun. Derek’s face was streaked with tears. Lydia’s own stormy expression softened into something Stiles had never seen before.

“We’re bringing him back.” She pressed her tiny hands around Derek’s face and repeated: “We’re bringing him back, I swear to you.”

“How?” He croaked. “This isn’t like Peter, Lydia.”

“No.” she agreed with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “This is better. Boyd is pure.”

“I don’t understand.” Derek pleaded, desperately.

“I don’t either, Lydia.” Stiles stepped forward. “How the hell are we bringing him back? Fucking around with this stuff—

“I am the harbinger of Death.” She stared him down with furious eyes.

“You’re _what_?”

They spun around to find a shell-shocked Jennifer Blake staring at them like they’d all grown an extra head or something.

“Jesus, Isaac.” Stiles groaned. “Could you get her out of here?”

“Yeah.” Isaac rasped, tearing his eyes away from Boyd. “Just, could you—

“I’ll call you if anything happens, I swear.”

“Wait, shouldn’t someone call the police—?

The heavy metal door slid shut with a clang.

Lydia explained to them in halting sentences. She explained the nightmares, and the waking dreams that haunted her every day. She explained how she was able to bring Peter back. She explained how she felt Death in her very bones.

“That’s,” Derek shut his eyes tightly and let out a strangled laugh, “fuck. Lydia. You’re a banshee.”

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes and went on as if there’d been no interruption. “Stiles is a magical conduit and Derek’s his Alpha. And we’re surrounded by water.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed over the rush of Lydia’s reveal. “A lot of cultures believe that water can act—

“As an amplifier.” She finished with a grim smile. “Water is one of the strongest elements and Boyd—

“Died in water.” Stiles stared at her in awe. “This is the craziest shit you’ve ever come up and you just told me you’re a freakin’ banshee but maybe—

“You need to believe.” She hissed. “You, Stiles, you’re the conduit. You need to have complete belief that this will work. Or—

She didn’t need to say anything else, not to him.

Stiles’ eye cut towards Boyd’s body despite himself, he exhaled with a shudder and willed every ounce of his being to _believe._ To believe that a sixteen year old boy who had done no wrong but want a better life deserved to have half a chance to live. He needed to believe that Boyd was owed every single moment the Universe had stolen from him.

Stiles needed to believe that, in the grand scheme of things, Death could not have Boyd. Not today.

~

Stiles _felt_ it. He felt the surge of all of the raw, untapped energy around them –from the Moon, to the people who lived their tiny lives in ignorance, to the microscopic life that surrounded them. Stiles felt the way Death cloaked Lydia like a second skin and entwined itself like vines around her ribs.

Through the complete sensory overload he willed himself to look at Boyd’s body, and willed the boy to open his eyes, to take a breath, to twitch, to do anything –for god’s sake, please, please, _please—_

Years later, feeling Death in his very bones wouldn’t haunt Stiles. Nor would bringing someone back to life give him nightmares. He wouldn’t be haunted by the thick scent of blood in the air or Lydia’s piercing screams. No. All of those things would fade into silvery scars with time.

But the way Boyd woke up with a strangled sob—

That, for whatever reason, that would haunt Stiles for years to come.

“Hey, hey.” Stiles breathed, reaching for him. “Hey it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Boyd slipped a word here and there through his sobs, hands clutching at his chest. “But, I’m not. I’m not—

“Boyd,” Stiles held Boyd’s face gently in his hands. “You’re alive. You’re here. Breathe. _Breathe_.”  

~

“Guys,” Boyd smiled, lazy and tired and unbelievably alive. Cora still had her arm wrapped tightly around his waist, her tear stricken face hidden in his chest. Boyd gently brushed his fingers through her hair. “Guys, I’m okay, really. I am. I just want to go home. I want to sleep in my bed.”

“Okay,” Derek nodded quickly. “Okay, yeah come on. I’ll drive you.”

Boyd smiled again, a bit forced from exhaustion but achingly sincere.

“Okay.” He looked around, his eyes landing on Stiles and Lydia. “Thank you. Again. Both of you.”

Lydia nodded with a tired smile. Stiles, for some reason, couldn’t unhinge his jaw to speak. He couldn’t look at straight at Boyd without flinching. Stiles didn’t have anything worthwhile to say, and he couldn’t bring himself to break the sacredness of what they’ve done by blurting out: “I’m sorry we weren’t friends.” Or “I’m sorry you had to die.” Or “My gut hurts all over again because for a while you didn’t exist anymore.”

Like Lydia, he nodded and didn’t say a damn word.

Yet, he still felt Boyd on the tips of his fingers.

~

The silence last for three days.

One the fourth day, there was a knock in the Boyd household and when Mrs. Boyd opened the door she found a boy whose arms were laden with snacks and movies. She found a boy with bruised brown eyes and an ancient smile.

She raised a brow at his silence.

“Hey!” Stiles blurted hurriedly. He could physically feel the blush rise in his cheeks and down his neck. “Hey! Hello! Hi, Mrs. Boyd? Hi. I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski! I’m a friend –well, more like, an acquaintance? Yeah, I’m an acquaintance of Boyd’s? Vernon. I’m an acquaintance of Vernon’s. Your son.”

Her other brow rose to meet the other in amusement, she called over her shoulder: “Vernon, honey. A Stiles is here to see you.”

She turned back to Stiles with a soft smile.

“Come on in, Stiles.” She gestured him forward, and nodded approvingly when Stiles toed off his shoes at the door after stealing a glance at the plush white carpet. She glanced towards the stairs quickly and back to Stiles. “I guess he didn’t hear me, you can go on up, darling. Vernon’s room is the second one on the right.”

“Oh.” He forced himself to stop nodding frantically, because Boyd had very obviously heard her. “Oh, okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

She snorted softly and gestured him away with jeweled fingers and nails that were painted gold.

Stiles counted his breaths and willed his panicked heart to calm down. He raised a hand to knock when the door swung open and he was dragged roughly inside. Stiles stumbled and landed on the bed with a low oomph. He quickly flipped himself over to find a narrow-eyed Boyd staring at him, arms crossed across his chest.

His _massive_ chest.

Stiles cleared his throat roughly. “Hi? Hi.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Stilinski?”

“Your mother is terrifying. In a really cool way. A bit like Derek but without the angst.”

“ _What?_ ”

Stiles bounced off of the bed with a hesitant grin and gestured towards the stuff he’d flung across the bed. “I brought three different kinds of Doritos ‘cause I couldn’t remember which you liked. And a bunch of movies –because we’ve never talked about this? Like, I have no idea what kind of movies you like—

“Stilinski—

Stiles shut his eyes and raised a hand. Boyd waited.

“What we did,” Stiles whispered, “bringing you back? Boyd, we dabbled with shit we don’t understand and I am so fucking grateful that it worked I am but—

“What are—?

“Have the nightmares started? I did the research, man. You died and we brought you back but you never come back whole. All the books say so. You never come back the same.”

Boyd stared at him with wide eyes, hands weak by his sides.

“What nightmares?” he finally rasped. A final desperate attempt to cling to the normal, disregarding maybe that their lives were anything but normal.

“See, buddy, I don’t need to be a werewolf to know you just lied.”

“Why the hell do you even care? Damnit, Stilinski, we’re not—

“Even friends, I know.” Stiles finished for him. “We’re not friends. We weren’t friends. You died, and you and I weren’t friends and I can’t seem to forgive myself for that.”

“So, is that why you came here?” Boyd snarled. “For absolution? Do you want me to tell you that it’s okay? That I fucking forgive you?”

“Fuck no.” Stiles sat back down heavily. “I’m here ‘cause this is a second chance and I’d selfishly like to be your friend. If you’d let me.”  

Boyd stared him unblinkingly. They both knew there was no lie to be detected there. 

“And to see if I can help with the nightmares.” Stiles finished softly. “I don’t know why you haven’t told Derek yet and it’s not my place to ask but I do know no one should go through this one their own.”

“They’re not nightmares, exactly.” Boyd whispered softly, surprising them both. “I used to have nightmares about Erica all the time, and these are nothing like that.”

Stiles scooted up the bed and crossed his legs. “Sit. Eat. Pray? Kidding, man. Tell me as much as you can and I’ll research my life away.”

Boyd settled in next to Stiles, and picked up a bag of cool ranch Doritos.

“They always start…”

So Boyd told Stiles. He told Stiles about the feeling of being buried alive, about the feeling of falling, about how he could never seem to wake himself up. He talked and talked until his deep voice was hoarse and they’d gone through two and a half bag of chips.

“Okay.” Stiles stood up unsteadily. “Okay, I’m gonna go and see what I could figure out. Maybe call Lydia and pool our—

“Or,” Boyd interrupted quietly, “you could stay and watch a movie. With me.”

Stiles’ eyes flicked between the movies and Boyd’s guarded expression.

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Yeah, duh. Obviously. That’s like, what the plan was in the first place.”

~

“Ok,” Stiles wrung his hands together and paced the length of Boyd’s bedroom. “Do you remember anything?”

“About? Use your words, Stilinski.”

It’s been four days. Four days since they’ve decided to figure out what being friends means and four days since they’ve been almost constantly around each other. Most importantly, it’s been four days since Stiles couldn’t stop picturing the flex of Boyd’s back in his mind. The length of his fingers. The bend of his neck. The white of his rare smiles.

“Boyd, come on—

He snorted softly. “No. If anything happened while I was dead, I don’t remember it. It’s completely blank.”

Stiles swallowed with a click and ignored the terrifying thought of there being nothing, absolutely nothing when they—

“Stiles?”

He cleared his throat roughly, and smiled softly at the hulking boy. “You died a violent death. Like, seriously, your soul was practically ripped out of your body –which, fuck the alpha pack, I mean seriously why the fuck—

“Stiles.”

Stiles desperately liked the way Boyd said his name. Desperately.

“Yeah, yeah. So, violent death? Add to that the fact that your tether was a banshee who usually calls for death and not, you know, life. Don’t forget the fact that we had absolutely no fucking clue what we were doing.”

“So, how did it even work? It sounds like I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

Stiles prayed to any and every deity listening that Boyd couldn’t hear the stutter of his heart at those words. How was he supposed to explain it, when he himself didn’t even understand?

“Basically, and this is probably a stupidly simplified explanation but Lydia used the water around her to amplify her power. Then she used Derek’s Alpha bond to you to tie your soul back to earth and used me to—

“To what, Stiles?”

He shrugged and waved his hands incoherently. “To believe? To be the catalyst? To be that little metal piece on a lighter that makes the fire come out? I honestly don’t know what role I played, man. I closed my eyes and hoped really hard you’d wake up.”

“And here I am.” Boyd hummed softly. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, man.” Stiles sighed and sat down on the bed. “We have to figure a way to make this easier on you.”

Boyd stood up. “Come on.”

“Come…?” Stiles stumbled up after him. “Come where? Why?”

Boyd rolled his eyes and gestured downstairs. “You’re staying for dinner.”

“You don’t have to.” Stiles stuttered. He knew all too well what obligations felt like and he never wanted to be that –especially not when it had anything to do with Boyd, a tiny voice told him.

“I’d like to.” Boyd smiled softly. “I mean, that’s what friends do, right?”

 _I don’t want to be your friend_ , Stiles thought to the impressive stretch of Boyd’s back as he walked away. They walked downstairs together to find Mr. and Mrs. Boyd putting the final touches on the dinner table.

“You better be staying, Stiles.” Mrs. Boyd chided gently. “I can’t have you leaving my home without having dinner, again.”

Stiles wrung his hands behind his back. He’d swallow his own tongue before admitting it, but he wasn’t used to kindness from people that weren’t his father, Scott or Mrs. McCall.

 He cleared his throat roughly and pointedly didn’t look at Boyd. “I didn’t want to be any trouble.”

Boyd snorted softly somewhere at his right.

Mr. Boyd’s sharp eyes flicked between his son and Stiles. “You’re not, son. Now take a seat before you hurt yourself.”

Boyd’s hand found the small of Stiles’ back and pushed gently. His voice was ever so soft in Stiles’ ear. “As if you’d ever been anything but trouble, Stilinski.”

Stiles jabbed his elbow into Boyd’s side and quickly took a seat before the other boy could retaliate. He desperately ignored the heat in the pit of his stomach. He ignored the ghost of Boyd’s hand at his back.

They filled their plates in quite conversation, until Mrs. Boyd decided to break it.

“So, Stiles.” Mrs. Boyd leaned over with a familiar glint in her brown eyes. “What do you do?”

Stiles swallowed his food painfully. “I’m? A student? I learn?”

Mr. Boyd snorted into her plate. “Lori, leave the kid alone.”

“We’re talking!” She tossed a dazzling smile her husband’s way. “Tell me, how’d you and Boyd become friends?”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it. He had no idea what to say.

“He saved my life.”

Cue the shocked silence. Cue the creaking of the bones in Stiles’ hand because he held his fork a little too tight. Cue Stiles’ heart stopping for a beat too long. Cue the hope.

God, in that one second Stiles hoped so hard he thought he’d break with the force of it.

“Metaphorically.” Stiles finished, stealing a quick glance at Boyd. “I saved his life metaphorically. I brightened it with my beauty and wit. People say I have that effect on everyone I meet. I think it’s my glorious purpose, to save people’s lives. Metaphorically.”

Mr. Boyd laughed loudly, breaking the silence.

Boyd’s thigh was a line of heat against Stiles’ throughout dinner. His heart was a constant presence in his throat. Mrs. Boyd smiled into her plate for the rest of the night.

~

“I don’t think I can die.”

That was what Lydia decided to open with. The book in Stiles’ hands slipped and fell to the ground with a dull thud. He _knew_. God, he knew it in his very bones.

“Say that again. Say it slowly and explain.”

She hummed and smoothed down the fabric of her skirt. “I can’t die.”  

He stared at her. There was nothing to say. There was absolutely nothing he could say that would lessen the magnitude of the situation.

“I’m okay.” She smiled brightly and it hurt his eyes. “I’ve known for a while, Stiles. I just needed time to process it.”

He nodded mechanically. “Have you told anyone?”

She shook her head.

“I think I’ll tell Allison.” She delicately smoothed her skirt again and spoke in a soft voice. “Explain why pursuing a relationship wouldn’t be in her interest.”

“Oh, god.” That he also suspected. “Oh shit, Lydia. I’m sorry.”

She waved a hand. “Don’t be. I’m not. Never about her. Now, tell me why you’ve been spending every free second with Vernon Boyd?”

“What?” he squawked. “How do you even know that? Are you spying on me?”

 She snorted, _loudly_. “Don’t question my methods, Stilinski. You don’t want to know the answers. Why are you at his house so much?”

“I told you!” he waved his arms around his head in frustration and fast growing embarrassment. “The nightmares?”

She tossed a vial at him.

“That’s the water he died in. Blessed and purified by someone I’d rather never see again for the duration of my immortal life. Tell him to drink it at the next full moon, and he’ll be fine. Now, answer my question.”

He clenched his jaw stubbornly. Immortal or not, she wasn’t the boss of him and he didn’t owe her any answers.

“One day,” she whispered “I’m going to a watch you all die. Everyone I love will leave me and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

Fuck.

“He’s never seen Lord of the Rings.”

Silence.

“And you’re what?” she asked, delicately. “Helping him watch? Holding his hand through the dramatic scenes?”

“Oh my god, Lydia. You can’t just watch Lord of the Rings alone—

“Bambi, you’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot more than watch movies with him if you want Boyd to get it.”

“Bambi?” he sputtered.

“Woo him, Stiles.” she sighed. “Woo the hell out of him. Fuck, get him flowers. Make him laugh. God knows he deserves it.”

“I don’t know what—

She quelled him with a furious glare.

“He _died,_ Stiles.” She hissed. “That was it. It was over. In an alternative universe, you would have never gotten this chance. Don’t waste it, not when there’s half a chance that you two might be happy together.”

What she was saying brought on too many morbid questions. Can people like them even be happy? After all of the things they’ve said and done –the countless things they’d no doubt still have to do –do they even deserve happiness?

He stared at her sadly. “You and Allison could be happy together.”

Her hands went back to smoothing her skirt. “Damn straight we could be.”

He tried for a smile; it felt mangled and too old on his face. He didn’t remember the last time he was truly happy. “She deserves to know why, Lydia. She’d be pissed if she thought you were making her decisions for her.”

Lydia grinned ruefully. “She would be.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully. “Then tell her. Let her think about it. We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

She nudged him back with her sad, sad eyes. “Listen to your own advice, Stilinski.”

~                                                                                                                                                           

It was cold.

It was the type of cold that you felt underneath layers and layers of clothes. It was the type of cold that Stiles’ poor California upbringing never prepared him for. They stood at Boyd’s front door, and watched their breath swirl in the air around them. Selfishly, he wished Lydia hadn’t figured it out.

Selfishly, he wished he were a little bit braver.

Selfishly, he begged the Universe for a little more time. For a push. For a sign. For anything.

“And that’s it?”

“Uh,” Stiles rubbed his hands together quickly. “Yeah, man. The water should do it. Hopefully. I know it’s seriously anticlimactic after all the research we did but if this doesn’t work we’ll go to desperate measures and take you to this shaman in Tennessee. He’s out of his mind and will more than likely kill us, but, ya know.”

Boyd smiled shyly down at the dwarfed vial in his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”  

Stiles watched, enamored. He knew what he looked like then and there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, in complete awe of the person standing in front of him. He swallowed with a click, wished to god that everything he wanted to say would come out but instead all he said was: “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Boyd suddenly looked impassive. Unreadable. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay.”

It was that second, the very last second when Stiles finally began to turn away from Boyd that he saw the other boy’s expression fall.  Stiles rooted himself, back to Boyd, face to the empty street. He took a deep breath. It was Boyd. It was just Boyd.

It was Boyd.

“I have tickets.” He cleared his throat roughly and wished for rain. “I have tickets to this sold out play. I have no idea what it’s about but a bunch of college kids put it together. We should support the thriving Beacon Hills community. Together.”

Stiles could swear he heard the creaking of the trees.

“You don’t have to.” He went on, stumbling. “Obviously you don’t have to. I can’t force –hell, I’d like to see someone try and force you—

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Turn around.”

So he did, slowly. Stiles’ toes curled at the sight of Boyd’s sweet, private smile.

“I’d like to go see the play. With you. Willingly.”

“Oh.” Stiles laughed breathily into the air around them. “Oh okay, then.”

They watched their breath swirl in the air between them, soft smiles on their lips.

 ~

“How’d we do it, Lydia?”

She stretched across his bed with a heavy sigh, and stared up at the ceiling.  

“How’d we do what, Stiles?”

His desk chair creaked as he turned to face her. “How’d we bring him back?”

She was silent for too long. The AC choose that very second to whir to a stop. The air was too thick, too still around them.

It felt like time had stopped.

“It shouldn’t have worked.” She whispered. “He should’ve died. We should’ve mourned him. It was written.”

“So, what changed?”

She sat up, gracefully.

“You.” She replied simply.

His fingers twitched in his lap. “I don’t understand, Lydia.”

“Your belief in him, in his worthiness, in how undeserving Death was of him. That’s what changed.”

“No one should get to decide that.” He whispered, horrified despite himself. Horrified, despite that fact that he already knew this deep in his bones.

“No.” she agreed, lying back down and closing her eyes. “That’s why it shouldn’t have happened. We were very lucky.”

~

Boyd was awesome.

Awesome in the awe inspiring sort of way. Awesome in the way that made Stiles’ heart clench pleasantly. Somehow in the span of a few weeks, he’d become gravity itself and the very reason earth turned on her axis. Boyd had somehow become the sun and the moon and the breath in Stiles’ lungs.

Boyd watched the play with a beautifully open expression. Stiles unashamedly watched him.

“You’re missing the play, Stiles.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.” Stiles whispered low enough that Boyd barely heard him. Boyd stiffened, maybe in dismay, but Stiles didn’t let him wallow. Not when he suddenly felt like he could say anything in the dark of the theater.

“I want to do this for the rest of my life.” He went on quickly. “I want to make you happy. I want to make you laugh. I seriously love your laugh. You have the best freakin’ laugh in the world.”

Boyd’s eyes were glazed over with Stiles’ words; his mouth was softly open in shock. He was absolutely, unbelievably beautiful and Stiles wanted every inch of him.

“I don’t want to only be your friend.” Stiles whispered. “If you’d let me, I’d spend the rest of life making you forget every bad thing that’s ever happened to you. I know this is crazy because we’re barely—

“Friends?” Boyd finished, finally turning to face him. He was wearing that sweet, private smile again.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed softly, tearing his eyes away from Boyd’s mouth. “Barely friends.”

Boyd took Stiles’ hand and brought it to his lips. Stiles watched, mouth a gap, as Boyd pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Watch the play, Stilinski.”

Boyd didn’t let go of his hand.

~

When the play finally ended it was raining –bitter cold, and stinging on Stiles’ fragile skin. But they whooped with laughter, a happiness they hadn’t felt in too long making them immune to nature’s fury.

“Oh, my _god_.” Stiles laughed, slamming his car door behind him. “That stings like a bitch.”

Boyd grinned slowly, eyes kind. “Humans are so fragile.”

“Says the dude who hasn’t been a werewolf for six months.”

A flash of movement, a whoosh and a laugh later, Stiles found himself in Boyd’s lap. “Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah,” Boyd laughed, throaty. “Werewolves, right?”

Stiles grinned, eyes on Boyd’s mouth, getting closer and closer. “Right. Fuckin’ werewolves.”

“Can’t live with them,” Boyd whispered against Stiles’ lips.

“Can’t live without them.” Stiles finished, laughing softly into Boyd’s mouth.  

They pressed their lips together, and it’s corny, Stiles knows how corny it sounds but in that second he felt complete. He felt the air around them shift and settle. He knew in his bones that he’d found his way home.

~

“You should know better than to mess with the lives of mortals.”

Lydia smiled lazily at her companion.

“They shifted the stars.” She laughed, happiness just about pouring from her. “They changed time. They’re impossible.”

The woman snorted. “You’re impossible.”

Lydia’s smile widened. “I might not be completely adverse to this immortal thing after all.”

The woman’s expression softened into something younger than her infinity. “You can’t undermine my authority like that, Lydia. You can’t just bring back anyone you want.”

Her smile slipped. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

The woman reached over, and took Lydia’s hand in hers. She felt endless, Lydia silently mused. “No one deserves to die.”

Endless and sad. The sadness was evident in every curve of her beautiful face.

She twined her fingers through the woman’s. Lydia didn’t want to argue, not when she felt happiness in her very bones. They’ll figure it out. They had all the time in the world.

“Love conquers all,” she closed her eyes and smiled up at the sky. The woman stared at her, in awe, knew she didn’t deserve Lydia Martin. Maybe she’d never deserve her.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

For the first time in creation, Death had a companion.

Lydia Martin was going to change the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> ah, man. man oh man. thank you for reading, folks.


End file.
